Monthly Archives: April 2012

You guys DO understand that we’re reading other people’s PERSONAL and REAL emails here, right?

Remember MY PLAN to rid the world of misdirected emails? Every time I get something good sent to me by mistake, I’m sharing it. Right here. In a segment called Check Your Email, Dude (CYED).

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You are now reading Episode #4 of the Jud & Bill series entitled Brotherly Love, chronicling the mundanely interesting goings-on in the daily lives of two brothers across the country from one another. For the last episode, click here.

[ Brotherly Love – Ep. 4]

7/22/11, 1:39am

Bill,

As far as my newest hobby of trying to brew my own brew (I think that is a pun), I did think about the pool, but decided against it. My main concern was what to do with my 1991 water that I have spent countless money on to keep clean for 21 years now. Under NYS motor vehicle law, it is now considered classic water, and I only have another 79 years to go before I can declare it antique water. You need to keep on looking for where they are growing the Mary Jane. I know it is out there. Remember brand names like Califorina Gold. Talk soon.

Jud

Will Jud realize that he in fact did not make a pun at all? Why in the shit has he been saving water for 21 years? Where did he attend school and not learn to spell California???

Stay tuned for more adventures of Jud & Bill in our next episode of Check Your Email, Dude.

Is it weird to base a whole blog post on someone else’s YouTube videos? Whatever. There are no rules here. So, put your feet on the table, ruin your dinner with Doritos and go blow your nose on the good towels. This post just had to be written.

I recently became reacquainted with a couple of videos that make me nearly pee my pants every time I watch them. My husband travels a lot for work (more on that another time) and one of the many cities he’s had the good fortune to visit is beautiful Cleveland, Ohio. During one of his visits there, he and I first discovered these mock tourism videos made by a couple of brilliant dudes who I can only assume hail from Cleveland. Otherwise, it’s totally offensive.

The first video is funny … but the second one had me inhaling my Diet Coke. Which really burns, by the way. And yet I still associate these viewing experiences with positivity. That’s how funny they are.

I don’t know these guys personally but I really, really hope they’ll do a promotional spot for ODNT one day … or maybe even my daughter’s wedding video!

Sorry, Cleveland. These dudes started it. Enjoy …

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The first one …

… and its sequel.

It’s the weekend … which means it’s my “TrifextraME time.” (Oh, that’s just so sad.) Anyway, if you didn’t see my last post, I’ll explain that the assignment this time is to create a scene involving three people and write it from the point of view of each of these characters, using 33 words for each of them.

This post is aptly-named as it’s available to everyone but directed to my Trifecta circle. The three vignettes that follow are intended to illustrate the individual reactions of three specificTrifecta writers when they read this weekend’s assignment.

It’s Trifextra time. What’s the assignment, you ask? Participants were asked to create a scene involving three people and write it from the point of view of each of these characters, using 33 words for each of them.

I opted to go with non-fiction for this entry. My scene could represent any night in our household when my son has a basketball game. I’ll let you figure out whose perspective is represented in each vignette.

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The Pre-Game Show

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Put more arc on the ball. Use the backboard. Hold the ball up here so no one can steal it. Keep it high so you can put it back up for your rebound.

I washed your shirt. It’s in the dryer. Get your shoes and tell your sister we’re about to leave. Whoever has to pee should go now. Do you want red Gatorade or purple?

I know! Daaaad! Okay. You say that every time. Thanks. I’ll get it. They’re already on. MOM WANTS YOU! I already went. SHE SAID TO PEE! Do we have yellow? That’s my favorite.

Remember that new writing challenge I tried out last week at My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog? I forgot to mention it’s called 100 Word Song. Each week, a song is selected and entrants must offer 100 words (exactly) “interpreting” the song. Entries can be any form – poetry, limericks, signs, cartoons, essays, fictions, real life scenarios, etc.

This week, I got to pick the song. Seriously, it’s like getting to be the line leader in your kindergarten class. It’s a big deal around here. I went with Waiting on a Friend by the Rolling Stones. I’ve always liked it and it seemed like an interesting one to illustrate through words. Here goes (hopefully not) nothing …

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Waiting on a Friend

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“Where IS he?” she panicked, trying futilely to calculate the elapsed minutes since his last call. Her body was slowing down dramatically. Her plan was simple. Timing was crucial. She’d take the pills when he was an hour away. He’d arrive, find her and instantly recognize his mutual feelings.

She lay on the bed, trying to read the clock. 11:14. Or 11:41? The numbers blurred. The phone rang across the room. She heard his voice on the machine. Something about a fender bender. Running late.

Her lids closed and she drifted off, her languishing hand dropping the empty bottle to the floor.

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The Thursday evening deadline is looming so I had decided to pass on the Trifecta Weekly Challenge. But then I got an idea. And I just had to flesh it out. I didn’t even have my laptop handy so I wrote the whole thing on my phone and crossed my fingers on the word count. And it turned out I was pretty close. So, after a little editing this afternoon, I’m now posting my submission.

Entries must be between 33 & 333 words and need to include the following word using its third definition (both listed below).

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My friend, Mel, at AccordingToMags is getting back at me for making her publish a post with the word penis in it. Now …. before you get all excited … hers is a very innocent story. When she initially told me about it, she had no intention of putting it in her blog …. until I pushed. And pushed. And then had a snack and went to check the mail. And then pushed a little more. Anyway, her post is a hysterical little account of taking her young kids to see a movie. Click here to read it.

And, in my quest to push her out of her comfort zone, I may have inadvertently mentioned that I had a similar story involving my son from 2005. He was only five, kindergarten-bound and very observant. These three qualities ensured that all of the thoughts that crossed his mind also crossed his lips. And I was usually more than happy to answer any and all of his many, many, many questions.

(Oh, God. This story is so embarrassing. Mel, I’m dying here.)

So anyway, my family was on its first trip to Disney World. It was the four of us (son, 5 and daughter, 2) as well as my parents. My kids had a blast and wanted to ride everything they could but their age differential enabled my boy to take on a lot more of the rides than his sister. And he was still too young to know to fear the scary rides.

Enter that stupid Mission: Space ride at EPCOT.

Now, first of all, I know what you’re thinking. “Mission: Space??? Michele, are you nuts? He was only five. I can’t believe you brought him on that terrifying shock to the nervous system.” To which I can only say, yes. Well, sort of yes. Disclaimer – the tragic story involving that ride happened just six weeks after we were there. Truly, no one realized how intense this ride really was at this point. But I digress …

So, because my daughter was clearly too young for this ride, Dave opted to sit it out with her. And my parents hung back with them. My boy was all excited about the space ride so what’s a mom to do?

Right? Of course, right.

It was one of the newer rides at the park so it comes with the tedious experience of waiting in a Disney line that weaved through a maze of snotty ropes, germy handrails and darkened corridors intended to get us all in a space-y mood by the time we reached the core. After nearly an hour had passed, we got to the end of the line and waited in a small holding room with maybe 25-ish people to get into our respective “pods.” (Can’t you just feel the nerd?) And we waited and waited. And waited. Something was clearly wrong. There was a loud beep and everyone got quiet in anticipation of a voice coming over the PA to tell us what to do.

We’re all familiar with the expression “you could have heard a pin drop,” right? Well, that’s exactly how it was when my sweet little son, back then always armed with a million questions, turned to me in the deafening silence and said “Mommy” … and then he paused … ’cause clearly there was gonna be more.

I turned to my boy and said “What?” … expecting any number of predictable, mundane statements from my five-year-old.

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

“What’s taking so long?”

“I’m huuuuuungry.”

“My tummy hurts.”

“This shirt feels itchy.”

“That guy sure has a fat belly.”

Any of those (and many, many others, by the way) would have been fine. But that wasn’t the direction he was going. Cut back to me. “What?” I said innocently.

Nothing could have prepared me for this next moment as a parent.

“Why do you have so much hair on your vagina?”

*** PAUSE FOR LAUGHTER ***

Okay. You know that special effect that they have in cartoons where the character’s eyes bulge out and you hear the old-fashioned Model T car horn blaring? Well, that was me. Me and EVERYONE ELSE in the room.

Then, at the exact moment that my body was debating its fight or flight options, a voice mercifully came over the loudspeaker to announce that the ride was experiencing some kind of technical difficulty. Or something like that. Honestly, I have no idea what it said. My vagina had just been the topic of a small focus group! I was too busy picking up the shattered pieces of my dignity from the floor and trying to keep every ounce of blood from rushing to my face.

Then, somehow, I made it worse.

I can’t explain why I felt the need to defend myself to these strangers. Fearing that everyone in the room would think me some sort of deformed, wooly mammoth (and not understand, as any human should, that ANY hair there is foreign to a child), I found myself blurting out … “It’s not that much really” … to the room and then hauling ass, my boy in tow, for the exit. I don’t think I stopped until I reached the space under my bed in the hotel room.

And, for the record, I have never told this story outside of very tight circles. Why? Because even to this day, I fear judgment. I’m a hygienic … and manicured … person. I swear!!! But a five-year-old boy, with different parts than this mama, is going to ask questions. I guess I should be counting my blessings that it wasn’t in church.

(Dear God, did I just really talk about “myself” on the internet? I think I need to go throw up.)